“Knife is often handy,” I mused. “Shall we?”
I traded a slow nod with Molly, offered Lara my arm, and we walked down to the boat together. Her hand was cool on my burned forearm. Even the light pressure made the burn from Sir Butters’s holy sword,Fidelacchius, ache.
Lara noticed me frowning down at my arm and asked quietly, “Is something wrong?”
“You’re not being burned when you touch me,” I noted quietly. I held her hand to give her a point of balance as she went up the short ramp to the boat’s deck. “I’ve been with someone who loved me.” I cleared my throat. “Reasonably recently. In fact, the night of the battle, you got blistered. But you’re not getting scorched. Why not?”
She thought about it for a moment before answering. “Likely because I’ve fed my Hunger and I’m keeping it well in check,” she replied. “Like last time. If I allowed it to try to influence you or feed from you, that’s when the burns happen.” She frowned down at my arm. “That’s not healing like the rest of your injuries from the battle, is it?”
“Holy sword,” I said shortly, coming aboard. “Some kind of divine thing, I think. Isn’t bad.”
“I…see,” she said. “Can I help you cast off?”
“Get the ropes aft,” I said, heading to the bow.
We unmoored theWater Beetleand I climbed the ladder to the second steering wheel atop the wheelhouse, while Lara went up to the front of the boat and draped herself attractively across the new bench seatingthat had been installed there. The engine started with a smooth rumble. I checked the fuel and oil indicators and we pulled slowly out of dock, out of the marina, and onto Lake Michigan.
Michigan is a cold-water lake. Though the sun beat down on us, the spray the boat began to kick up as I turned it into the wind leeched the worst of the heat out of the air. Lara took her hat off and let her head fall back to bare her throat to the light.
My instincts told me to lock the wheel, go down to her, and see if her throat would feel as soft against my lips as it looked like it would. Supported by the primal power of the Winter mantle, my instincts spoke very loudly—but I’d been working out so hard earlier in the morning precisely to give them less weight in my decision-making process, and I ignored them.
Lara was playing polite and cautious with me. I was doing the same with her. As long as that balance was maintained, things would remain convivial.
If it started slipping, I wasn’t sure what would happen.
She seemed to feel my gaze on her. Her head tilted, and she opened her eyes though she didn’t look directly at me.
I wondered if she was thinking along the same lines I was.
Perhaps it would be wisest not to find out.
We cleared the markers close to shore and I opened up the throttle, setting course for Demonreach.
Chapter
Eight
Lara watched me carefully and calmly once we got to the island. It was a short hike to the ruined lighthouse at the island’s summit and the little cottage built at its base, and I felt her eyes on me the whole way.
“It’s interesting,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“You never look down here,” she said. “You’re normally very aware where you put your feet.”
I glanced over my shoulder at her without slowing down. “You have feet as big as mine, you get used to looking out for other people’s toes.”
“You do,” Lara countered. “Not everyone would. There is no shortage of people who enjoy stepping on toes.”
“I don’t have to be those people,” I said. “I just have to be me.”
“Yes,” she said. “Fascinating.”
I frowned at her.
“To see someone with so much power use it so carefully,” she clarified. “It is unusual to see it in a person of your…”
“Idealism?” I suggested. “Clumsiness? Trauma?”
